


Noise

by RichieBrook



Category: Last Shadow Puppets
Genre: Angst, Depression, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:53:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27457537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RichieBrook/pseuds/RichieBrook
Summary: I wrote this back in January and posted it on Tumblr. It's here now because I'm moving all my stuff to AO3 to have it in the same place. :)
Relationships: Miles Kane/Alex Turner
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	Noise

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this back in January and posted it on Tumblr. It's here now because I'm moving all my stuff to AO3 to have it in the same place. :)

Miles’ chest is heaving with anger and he can _feel_ the vein in his neck that Alex is very obviously staring at pulse. “Well?” he asks, his voice bordering on shrill. He clears his throat. “Are you gonna say anythin’ at all tonight, or are you just here to stare at me? Because if that’s the plan, I’m going to bed and I’ll expect you to be out of my house come mornin’, Al.”

Alex’s face is pale and splotchy at the same time, his eyes dull as he tears his gaze away from Miles’ neck and meets his eye for the first time tonight. There’s an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

“Why the hell are you ‘ere?” Miles demands.

Alex shakes his head again, even though Miles’ question isn’t exactly a closed one this time. He runs a hand through greasy hair, and breathes out audibly. It only makes Miles angrier. His fingers tingle with the urge to punch him. He’s never punched Alex in his life but God knows he wants to right now. “You’ve ignored me for what, five months? Six? And you think it’s acceptable to turn up on my doorstep just like that? Where’d you even get me fuckin’ address, Alex? I can’t remember you askin’ for it. Can’t remember you askin’ me for anything at all. Who gave it to you, eh? Did you put up a show like this one for Jamie? Did he pity you enough to let you know where I live now?”

Alex just stares at him. Miles _knows_ he’s willing him to understand, but Miles doesn’t exactly feel willing to do anything after six months of being ignored. If Alex expects him to wrap him in a hug and squeeze him to his chest, he’s very fucking wrong. It’s not going to happen this time, there’s no way in hell. When Miles doesn’t react, Alex’s gaze returns to the vein and then strays to the floor. He starts to button his coat and reaches for his shoulder bag on Miles’ sofa.

“Oh, sure, do that. What’s the plan then, eh? Where’re you going now? You’ve your girl waitin’ for yeh at home?”

Alex shakes his head an infuriating third time, and Miles balls his fist, stepping closer now. “Fucking _talk to me_ , Alexander.”

“You’re the only one who calls me that.” Alex’s voice comes sudden and is rough with disuse. It makes the hairs on the back of Miles’ neck stand up straight.

“I’m the only one who manages to get through that thick skull of yours every once in a while. Or used to, anyway. Six months. Without a word. And don’t tell me you weren’t well because I’ve heard stories.”

“I weren’t well.” Alex clears his throat. “Not for all of those six months, obviously, but I couldn’t text you. I couldn’t text anyone. You can check if you want. I’ll let you check.” He’s already searching his pockets for his phone, but Miles just rolls his eyes.

“I bet you’ve been texting your girlfriend plenty,” he says and it’s probably a low blow, but he doesn’t care. “Which makes you a liar, Alex.”

“Maybe I am.” Alex’s fingers wrap themselves tightly around the strap of his shoulder bag. “But I’m not lying when I say that I felt like I couldn’t physically write you back. You more than others. I turned my phone off multiple times, for weeks on end. Couldn’t deal with the…” he makes a vague gesture with the hand that isn’t clasped around the strap of his bag. “The noise.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Miles snorts.

“No. I’m not trying to make yeh feel better. I’m trying to explain.”

“Bit late for that, innit,” Miles mutters. “If you didn’t want noise you shouldn’t ‘ave come ‘ere. I’m not about to be quiet because his fucking majesty can’t stand _the noise_.” He knows perfectly well he’s being unreasonable, but what part about Alex ignoring Miles for half a year isn’t exactly that? If anything, Miles has some catching up to do.

Alex opens his mouth and closes it again. A frown worries his tired features, and the beige jacket he’s wearing makes him look even paler. The worst part are the greyish tint of his skin and those empty, dark, dull eyes that rile Miles up even more. Before he knows it, he’s stepped forward and is pulling Alex’s hand away from the strap. Those dull eyes widen and Miles struggles to bring his breathing back to normal from the weird out of breath pattern it’s doing right now. “Why now?” he demands. “Why are you here?”

“I need - “

“Yeah, no, Alex. I don’t care what you need. I needed you plenty over the past couple weeks. If you’d have read me texts…”

Alex starts shaking his head again, and Miles hand travels from his shirt to the back of his head, stopping him. “I get that you’ve been down,” he grits out. “But I’m your - fuckin’ hell, Al, I’m yours, aren’t I. You could ‘ave called me and just said nothing. I could ‘ave done the talking. You could ‘ave put me on the guest list wherever and I’d have come. I’d have gotten the fuckin’ hint. I’d have brought you shitty movies and funny books you’d hate, and the new Fred Perry stuff, and…”

“Wouldn’t ‘ave needed yer clothes if you would’ave been there wif me though, would I,” Alex remarks drily, and Miles bunches his hair up in his hand and tugs at it, pulling Alex’s head back slightly. “Shut up. Don’t give me that shit. You come cryin’ to me every single time you’re feeling down, and the _second_ things are better you run back to yer girlfriend. Weren’t you wearing _her_ fuckin’ blouse on stage the other week?”

Alex laughs at that, but Miles doesn’t think it’s particularly funny.

“You’re pathetic,” he whispers. “Jesus, Al, what happened to you? Since when do you lie to me, eh?”

And then Alex reaches back. He slowly pulls Miles’ hand away from his hair and squeezes. Miles should pull his hand back but he doesn’t have the heart to. “I can’t talk,” Alex mutters. “ ‘s why I ‘aven’t been texting you back. I can’t fuckin’ _talk_ , Miles.” He sounds so desperate that Miles can’t do anything but nod once. He feels suddenly exhausted. He wishes he could kick Alex out and go to bed, but it’s a bit late for that. He feels responsible now. As always.

“So go to her,” he manages. His chest tightens as he says it. “Text her right now, I’ll help, and tell her you aren’t okay. Tell her you need a break. Go on holiday. Go to Italy, or Spain. Stay a while. Have fun. _Sleep_.”

“I’d rather stay here.”

“No.” Miles doesn’t think he’s ever told Alex no, but there it is. He feels sick as he holds out his hand. “Give me yer phone. We’re texting your girlfriend.”

“Yeah, because _that’s_ the fookin’ healthy thing to do,” Alex mutters, and Miles laughs coolly.

“It’s healthier than stringing me along again and making me think you came to me of all people for a reason. Hand it over. Yer going home to her, you two are going to talk, and you’re gonna ask her for help to take the next step. Not me. Not again. Give me your phone, Alex.”

Alex does. Miles unlocks his phone and goes through his messages, a feeling of dread growing in the pit of his stomach as he notices that Alex really hasn’t texted anyone back in a while. The chat with his girlfriend is nowhere to be found. When he looks up in question, Alex gives him a curt shake of his head.

“Pushed her away, did yeh,” Miles murmurs.

“She was starting to figure it out.” Alex smiles humourlessly.

“What, that you’re a selfish prick when you’re sad?”

“Spot on. So I ended it.”

Something in Miles’ chest crawls uncomfortably at that.

“Wanted to end whatever you and I ‘ave, too. It’s this constant fookin’ battle, Mi. I can’t text yeh or pick up the phone when you call because I’ll _say_ stuff, and I don’t want to be saying stuff. I want you to forget about me. That’s what I want.”

Miles stares at him. “ _Why_?”

Alex shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t - you said it yourself just now. You needed me. But I wasn’t in the position to be there for you. I didn’t want to be talking about me. Figured if I’d just keep quiet you’d forget about me; leave me be.”

“Leave you be, eh?” Miles spits. “To do what, exactly? Wither away?”

“Hmm.” Alex smiles tiredly. “I’d - yeah. Basically. I’d like that better.”

Miles sucks in a deep breath. “Do you still feel like that?”

A nod.

“Do you want a hug?” Miles hears himself say those words even though he’s pretty sure he doesn’t mean to actually say them.

“No. Don’t touch me. If that’s alright. I’m so sorry. For everything.”

It’s Miles’ turn to nod. He takes another deep breath. He’s still angry. Angry for being ignored for half a year, angry for Alex hiding from him. “You can stay on the sofa tonight,” he sighs. “And don’t fuckin’ leave in the middle of the night or do anything else to freak me out, you hear me? Just get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Loud and clear.” Alex doesn’t look like he’s really listening. He’s staring at a point on the wall behind Miles’ shoulder. He doesn’t look like he’s about to move, either. Miles does. He goes into the kitchen to make some tea, taking his sweet time in the hopes of calming his temper a little, but to no avail. When he comes back and finds Alex standing in the exact same spot, it flares right up again, as if someone struck a match in his chest. 

“Put the bag down and take off your jacket,” he snaps. He sets two steaming mugs of tea onto the coffee table with a thud, the hot water spilling over his hands, and grabs a blanket from the armrest of the sofa, thrusting it into Alex’s hands. “I’m serious. Sit down, drink your tea and try to get some sleep. And there’s no need to look like that. You’re welcome here, believe it or not, so for fuck’s sake, take off the jacket and _sit down_.” He’s perfectly aware that tough love isn’t going to get them anywhere, but it’s late. He was about to go to bed and watch some telly before Alex showed up, and the last thing he expected was to be forced into thinking about the very person he’s been trying to block from his thoughts every day for the past weeks.

Wordlessly, Alex sets his bag down and shrugs off his jacket, revealing a crumpled light blue shirt with a faded print. It’s not overly hot in Miles’ apartment, but there are visible sweat stains under his arms, which makes him look even worse for wear. He moves slowly to the sofa and sits down, his shoulders squared and his back tense. He glances at Miles. “Will you stay a while?” He’s frowning as he says it, his eyes boring into the table, as if voicing his thoughts is enough to make him as angry with himself as Miles is right now. “I know you’re tired,” he says quickly. “So am I, so it shouldn’t be long. I’m so fucking sorry, Miles.”

Miles sighs. “I swear I _will_ punch you if you tell me sorry one more time,” he mutters, dimming the lights before he flops down onto the armchair next to the sofa. He watches Alex sip his tea before toeing off his trainers and wrapping the thin blanket around his shoulders. Alex lies down with a sigh and presses his temple into one of the fluffy sofa pillows. His eyes glint in the darkness as he rests his gaze on Miles. Miles curls his legs under himself, getting more comfortable (because let’s be realistic, he’ll probably be here a while), and returns his gaze, watching Alex watch him in the quiet darkness of the living room right until Alex’s eyes slip closed. 


End file.
